


breath

by tinsnip



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Gen, Huddling For Warmth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-23
Updated: 2014-02-23
Packaged: 2018-01-13 13:58:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1229026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinsnip/pseuds/tinsnip
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kira tries to keep a dying Sisko alive. Set during 4x07, “Starship Down”.<br/>Written for the <a href="http://ds9tumblzine.tumblr.com">DS9 tumblzine's</a> "Huddling for Warmth" prompt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	breath

His breathing was slow. Too slow. She could barely hear it.

She paused in her prayer to lean down, hoping to feel the warmth of his breath against her face… but there was nothing.

"Captain…?"

She rested a hand against his neck. There was a pulse, thank the Prophets, so he was still alive. But he was so cold.

"Sir, stay with me."

There was no movement, no response, not even a twitched eyelid. His pulse was a barely-felt flutter beneath her fingertips.

_More stim?_

But another shot of stim might kill him. Hell, she was still almost surprised this one hadn't. _Am I just pumping life into a dead man?_

No, that wasn't right. She couldn't let herself think that way. He wasn't a dead man. He wasn't a man at all. He was the Emissary. And the Emissary could not die. Not here, not now: the prophecies said so.

_Believe it, Nerys. Believe it hard._

But he was lying there—if Humans were anything like Bajorans then the signs were clear: he was dying, and she was doing _nothing—_

_'Stupid girl! You've never understood!'_

The voice in her head was Vedek Espreta. She'd known him back in the camps, when she was a little girl. He'd taught her—had taught all of them the stories of the Prophets, the ways to walk their path, the prophecies that were every day coming true. And he'd had no patience for a young girl who'd thought there were more important things to life than prophecies.

_'No, you don't understand! Can't you see we're starving? I could be out finding food—'_

_''The prophecies are your food!'_

Sisko's breath stuttered, and she gasped without meaning to, put her hands to his face.

"Breathe, Emissary. Breathe."

As if he could hear her. As if what she said mattered at all to the Emissary of the Prophets.

 _'I can't eat words, Vedek!'_ And she'd turned her back, had folded her arms with the righteousness of a twelve-year-old. _'Stories won't keep me alive!'_

 _'One day, Nerys, you may find that the stories are all that can keep you alive.'_ He'd said it sharply, and she'd scowled at the corrugated metal of the wall.

 _'It doesn't matter. None of it matters! If we want to survive, we need to do something! And you just keep talking about the Emissary's warmth, the Prophets' breath—I'm freezing, Vedek!'_ She'd turned back to him, shouting, gesturing at her clothes. _'If the Emissary wants me to be warm, why doesn't he give me something to wear? Why doesn't he send the sun? Hell, why doesn't he burn the Cardassians right off—'_

Muttering around her, and she'd been pulled down, tugged into a hug by the other children, half to comfort, half to restrain.

 _'That is not the plan of the Emissary, child, nor of the Prophets.'_ The Vedek had shaken his head. _'I do not know their plan. I cannot imagine why things are the way they are. It is not my responsibility, or yours. All we must do is breathe the Prophets' breath instead of our own. All other things will come in time. And when the Emissary comes, his light will warm us all. Believe it, child.'_

He'd looked at her with strange, old eyes. She'd hated him.

She still did, cursing him beneath her breath as she bent over the failing body of her people's fondest dream come true.

"You can't die, Emissary. Breathe. Please breathe."

Prophets, he was so cold.

She knew what to do about cold. There'd been nights in the Dakhur foothills when she'd slept in a pile of ten people, feet in faces and elbows in ribs, not caring because it was better than freezing.

But he was the Emissary…

_If I accept his frailty_ _… will he die?_

Stupid. Sacrilegious and stupid, to think that the Prophets were waiting on the faith of Kira Nerys. She didn't need to try to understand their plan, to circumvent their thinking. All she needed to do was breathe their breath.

She inhaled, tasting smoke; exhaled, tasting blood; leaned down over the Emissary (the dying man), wrapped herself around him, pressed her face against his skin (the sacred flesh), gave him her heat so that he could live to warm them all.

_You are the Emissary. I have to believe it. The Emissary can't die._

_But you're just a man. And I have to keep you alive._

"Give us your warmth, Emissary," she whispered against his skin. "Help me believe."


End file.
